Every Step You Take
by Addicted Archangel
Summary: Oneshot. Reid is being watched by someone. A very deranged woman from his past has returned to once again make his life a living hell, but for now she is only watching. Sequel to Sins of the Father, but stands alone. OFC, NO shipping!


**A/N: Productive me. Two in a day. Now, does anyone remember my fic "Sins of the Father"? Well, a certain someone is back, and she is watching our little doctor Reid. If she wasn't creepy before, she's very creepy now. Sienna is back.**

**Should also mention that this oneshot has nothing to do with Liar, it's a stand alone. For now... -grin-**

-o-o-o-

I watch him. I study him.

Sometimes I sit outside the building where he works all day just waiting for him to come out. Most of the time I'm on the road, following every move he makes. Every now and then, they get on that damn jet and fly somewhere I haven't been informed of, but it's only a phone call away. I see them heading off for the airstrip and all I have to do is make a call and I have all the information I need. Having a big rolodex is always a good thing. Having a contact on the inside of Quantico is an even better thing.

So I follow him. He gets on a plane, I get on a plane. He takes a step, I take a step. My eyes never leave him as he moves along the streets, talking to his teammates or to witnesses. If he enters a building, I wait outside until he comes out again. Then I follow him again.

I take notes. His daily routine is so simple. He leaves home, and goes to get his second cup of coffee for the day. His first one he's had at home already. He gets the coffee and heads for Quantico. There he has up to six more cups of coffee, depending on how long he stays in the building. Tall, hot, three teaspoons of sugar, no milk, no cream. It really can't be good for his stomach. He'll get an ulcer one of these days if he's not careful, with all that stress and coffee. And there is not many nutrients going into that thin little body of his.

As a matter of fact, he doesn't eat much at all. An apple every now and then, and maybe lunch when his teammates force him. Well, no wonder, considering how skinny he is. That kid needs to eat. At least he stopped fucking his arms up. Every now and again that blond twit drags him out to lunch, and every time I want to break every bone in her hands for even laying a hand on my sweetheart's beautiful body.

JJ Jareau. I've done my homework. And I hate that woman. She's pregnant now, due any day. Thankfully that will take her out of our equation, at least momentarily. Then I will take her out of it for good.

I call him sometimes. From a payphone of course, so he can't star 69 me. Wouldn't want him to know that it's me. Not just yet. I don't call him too often, only once in a while so he won't get suspicious. I just like to hear his voice.

His computer is a hilarious thing to root around in. My friend Tracy taught me how to magically take a back door into the LAN the FBI uses. So many funny things to look at in there. I'm lucky that Tracy is such a good hacker that she could actually get into the system without that little tech woman finding her worm. A small miracle, if you ask me.

Penelope Garcia. So very intelligent and chipper, and a true wiz with the computers. But even the sun has its spots, and apparently one of those spots are covering Tracy's worm.

You wouldn't believe the things that boy has in his computer. For being a genius, that kid has way too much odd stuff on his hard drive. If his superior saw that, I'm sure a very serious conversation would take place.

Ah, yes. Aaron Hotchner, the superior. The unit chief. Such a manly man. Hadn't he been such a pencil pushing hard ass, he would have been a man of my taste. But I can't stand those damn anal retentive bureaucrats.

My young target took another route to work today. That kind of bugged me. He didn't go by his usual coffee shop, but stopped at a new place nearly across town. I didn't (even) understand why until I saw that brunette woman coming out of the house he just stopped in front of. Emily Prentiss. I found out later that he gave her a ride to work due to her car breaking down the day before. What kind of man drives clear across town to pick up a grown person, perfectly able to take the bus? He's either too nice for his own good, too stupid or too horny.

Emily Prentiss. Now there's a woman to my taste. Absolutely gorgeous and she actually has a brain. She is the only one on that damn team I actually see as a worthy adversary. I think she and I have a lot in common.

Sometimes when he goes to work I let myself into his apartment. He regularly changes his locks. I understand him, after the little prank I played on him with the fake apartment. He changes his locks, but he doesn't change his lock smith. Big mistake. One would marvel over what a man would do for a woman, provided that she gives the man what he needs. Cheap price to pay to have unrestricted access to my sweetheart's apartment. The lock smith calls me every time he changes the lock; I come down there, do my thing and get a set of keys to the new lock. Very simple.

I usually sit on his couch and look at his things. He has a lot of books and useless items sitting on his shelves. The sofa is so old it should have been retired years ago, but I suppose that's not one of his major concerns.

I like to lie in his bed, smelling his scent. Usually, I like to crawl in between the sheets and maybe take a little cat nap before getting up and remaking the bed. Smelling his clothes is another thing I love to do. I don't know why that fabric softener smells so much better than it does when I wash my own clothes with it, but I guess that's just one more of the mysteries that is him.

Once in a while I like to hop into the shower and have a quick one before I leave. The shampoo he uses reminds me so much of his soft hair under my fingers, and that's why I use it while I'm in there. To keep as much of his scent as possible on me. I use his toothbrush and hairbrush before getting dressed again and wandering through the all too big apartment.

Why does a single man need three bedrooms? I've always wondered that, ever since I first started watching him. He never has any guests, and he hardly spends any time here when he's not reading or sleeping. It's very odd. But whatever makes him happy. That's all I want to do. Make him happy.

Going through the cupboards in the kitchen, I check to see if there is ever anything else than coffee, week-old pizza or Chinese food in there. Sometimes there are a couple of bottles of beer, and that's when I know that his friend is coming over.

Derek Morgan. What a piece of work that man is. I think the muscles have worked their way into his brain. Perhaps he should consider stepping out of the gym at one point or another, and stick his nose in a book once in a while.

I leave the apartment slowly, checking that none of the neighbors see me. Wouldn't want my little secret to be blown. At least he hasn't found any of the cameras I planted there a couple of months ago, so I can watch him going about his daily routine.

The camera in the shower head is my favorite. Seeing those closed eyes and slightly open mouth while he washes his hair inches from the camera lens makes me tingle. Looking a bit further down on the screen, there's more than a tingle going through my body. He is a gorgeous creature, that boy.

I walk down the street away from his apartment, and surely enough I meet him as he drives along in the opposite direction towards his home. He doesn't see me. Or he sees me but doesn't recognize me. Or his brain is simply blocking out the fact that he knows who I am. There was someone with him in the car.

David Rossi. The new guy. The replacement for good old Jason Gideon. The Italian-American wise guy that actually does his job well. I hear him talking sometimes, and sometimes I learn things. He's not like Gideon. I like this one. He could be fun.

Gideon. Yes. It finally got too much for him, and he ran as the coward he was. One day I will tell my little sweetheart what really happened to his beloved mentor; why he hasn't contacted his little protégé since he left. I know he wanted to. But it's hard to talk to people when you're cold and stiff.

I always stay as long as I can in the flat, just to experience as much of him as possible. Hopefully he won't catch me on the occasions I let myself in in the middle of the night, just to stand by his bed and watch him sleep. He mumbles in his sleep sometimes, so I know he still dreams about me. Good or bad dreams I don't know. And I don't care. As long as he remembers me.

As I walk along the street, I smile slightly at the thought of what I am planning. It will take time to set everything up, but once the ball is rolling, there is no stopping it.

He'll be mine. Whether he likes it or not.


End file.
